Arc 4: 11 Legends
by Macx
Summary: A bounty hunter has come to Cybertron, but the bounty is far from your run-of-the-mill criminal. Cyclonus and Spike have to deal with an old acquaintance from Spike's human past, trying to find out what exactly this mysterious bounty is.


**Legends**   
by Birgit Staebler   
(mac@robyn.rhein-neckar.de)

  


  


He stood on a hill.   
It was an artificial hill, rising gently out of the metal world around him, sloping down toward a likewise artificial lake. The lake looked dirty, oily and the water level was rather low. To the horizon the metal ground stretched over grimy and torn-up ruins of once proud buildings.   
He smiled.   
Oh, he liked it here. Destruction and chaos was such a nice state of the art condition for a world, and he'd see that more chaos reigned until he decided to leave. He knew she would be on his trail soon, especially since he had heard that one of the petty thieves living off Cybertron's population was selling information about him.   
Walking down the hill he went into what was called Badlands here. Yes, it was nice here. He felt so much at home. So many victims he could depend on supplying him with what he needed, so many desperate ready to join if they saw a chance. What a great place! He knew he would never go back, whatever came.   
He took one of the public monorails, his form not very different from many of the aliens on this metal world, and no one looked at him twice. It took a while for him to reach the first destination, the first place to spread his chaos. Looking over the city, the sky above him nothing but metal, the horizon a complicated means of tubes and wire nets, he smiled widely.   
"Welcome to Below," he said to himself.

* * *

Cybertron had been a rather quiet place lately, Rodimus Prime mused as he sat in his office, sorting through papers as he always did in the late afternoon hours. He had had to make himself a schedule to get this bureaucracy stuff done on time and he was actually getting a lot done since there was no crisis or problem requiring his non-stop attention. West Central was running like on automatic with Metroplex taking care of all those little daily and routine things. Kup was handling security detail, Ultra Magnus had sorted out Below and Shockwave was getting somewhere with his explorations of the Inner Maze that surrounded the sub-terranean city of Below. The Apocalypse was on a test run, trying out the new engines the Technobots had come up with and the Monolith was in dry dock because of minor repairs. The whole fleet had been upgraded and though it was still lacking numbers, the fire power of those few ships ready was immense on its own.   
Rodimus smiled as he signed another report and forwarded it to Optimus for a final review. The older Prime had done his own office work lately as well and between the two of them they were nearly up to date. Counterstrike was currently in the growths and he was getting a lot of reports from there and the doorway exploration had been restarted. It was a good sign and since security there had been tightened, Rodimus went into recharge feeling no longer so anxious. Starscream was outdoing himself with the work in the doorway chamber. The exploration team was standing by and so was also the Axis II, the second and still experimental Transwarp ship. Spike had taken command of the Axis II and the moment he had a green light, he'd take her out again – hopefully with less catastrophic results.   
So what else could he wish for? Rodimus sighed slightly. More time with his Interface partner to start with. Of course, they were always with each other through the link, but it was nothing compared to an actual contact in person. With all this office work and conferences, Shanygn had declared his office a 'bore zone' where she'd fall asleep if he continued to run numbers through his brain unit and mutter about reports, and she had vacated the premises. He longed to just go out for a drive, turn his engine up to the max and simply let the landscape fly by. Tapping his pen against the desk, Rodimus found his mind wandering and he caught stray images from Shanygn. She was in her quarters and about to leave for a stroll through the local mall. There was a new one over at Westridge as well and she would probably check it out. As boring as the young Autobot thought this might be for him, it sounded better than yet another filed bunch of scientific data from Perceptor.   
[Shan?]   
Shanygn was surprised by the sudden contact. [Hey, Roddy, what's up?]   
[I'm bored beyond words here and if I see another twenty dollar sentence in Perceptor's report I'll probably gonna shoot it]   
She laughed. [So what you actually want to say is: help!]   
He echoed her laugh. [Yes. Have time?]   
Shanygn sent a smile. [For you? Always! Pick me up?]   
Rodimus let the pen fall onto his desk and was out of his office in record time. He didn't see Optimus Prime as he came down the corridor and he didn't see the older Autobot's amused smile as Rodimus raced off.

* * *

Her entrance was nothing spectacular, though her presence was immediately noticed by the regulars in the bar. A dozen eyes followed her hungrily, targeting her, searching for a weak spot to take her out later. The bar was called 'Last Stop' and it was right at the border to the Badlands. A lot of sleaze hung out here, making their deals with traders and shadowy creatures of either Cybertronian or alien origin, and those who didn't have a 'business meeting', were waiting for a possible target or contact. The Last Stop had a healthy mixture of both Cybertronian and organic aliens from other worlds. The woman now walking in was organic as well, but that was nothing to be surprised of. Still, many would have loved to get to know her much more intimately, one way or the other, and only the unwritten rule of the Last Stop's owner stopped them. He wouldn't have trouble within or around his establishment. Police investigations were always such a mess. It was an unwritten law, but one enforced quite strongly. The woman now stopped in front of the bar, scanning the room, her dark eyes brushing over the male and female customers like radar. Some even turned away from the intense gaze.   
"Can I help you?" the bar tender asked.   
"I am looking for a friend of mine," she said, her voice level, without emotions, sounding dangerously cold. "He came here a few nights ago."   
"Do you have a name to go with that friend?" He gave her a closer look. The woman was mainly humanoid in appearance and of an undefined age, but not too old. In her late twenties maybe. Her face seemed to be hidden in the shadows even with the lights of the Last Stop playing over her features. She was wearing a long, black coat, her feet in leather boots, legs clad in jeans as far as he could see. She was wearing no jewelry except small ear-rings.   
"Aragon."   
"Nope, sorry, never heard that name before." The bar tender went back to cleaning some glasses.   
The woman didn't pursue him with questions, just giving him a last, intense stare, and simply crossed the dance floor, circumnavigating the chains hanging from the ceiling, avoiding contact with anyone on the floor. One of the more daring men suddenly intercepted her way. He was a humanoid alien as well, about a head taller than her – and she was taller than a human being – and probably stoned.   
"Hello, darling," he breathed. Her features never twitched. "You are looking for your friend? Maybe I can help."   
"I doubt it." She pushed past.   
He followed, touching her arm to turn her around ... and found himself flat against the wall, a pair of golden glowing eyes transfixing him.   
"Don't you touch me again," she whispered in such a low voice his highly sensitive ears had to strain to catch the words. She didn't even move her lips.   
Then she let him go and left the Last Stop.   


Razorclaw, sitting in a small, dark booth next to the backdoor exit, had witnessed the small episode with interest. He knew the name of the friend this stranger had asked for, and she knew where he might find this person. Aragon was a known small times weapon's dealer and he had spent as much time in prisons and holding cells as he had outside. He had been one of the many rescued 'players' from the Game several decades back. Razorclaw, as a member of Counterstrike, had looked into the backgrounds of those aliens who had stayed since Cyclonus had wanted to know all about them, and they had found quite a collection of small or larger criminals there. All who had stayed had been put under surveillance and many had immediately taken to their new old careers. Aragon was one of them and Razorclaw somehow suspected there was much more to the little smart-ass than they thought. He had contacts he had yet to get a closer look at and he was dealing with such little things that made no money that Cyclonus had once remarked they couldn't be responsible for the big time money he gloated he 'earned'.   
Now the former Predacon leader rose and quietly left the bar, unnoticed by anyone. He had a call to make.

* * *

He studied the accumulation of intelligence and power, dormant but still kind of awake. The Cybertronians called it a Containment Unit. He had detected two of them on the planet, but only one was radiating this much potential to spread chaos. Something had contaminated the pureness, the unborn minds, and it had lodged itself into some of them so deeply that a removal was out of the question.   
Potential.   
He chuckled to himself. All he had to do was free those minds, let them lose, and they would continue the chaos even after he was gone.   
He reached for the pocket of power he always carried with him, an invisible force field containing the wondrous joy of his magick. A smile spread over his lips as he felt it crackle around him, still invisible, but anyone close by – if there would have been one – would have been able to feel it.   
"Upon Chaos I call you, upon Chaos I bind you, upon Chaos I swear."   
The power rose and now he could even taste it. This was so wonderful!   
"Chaos I release here, spread and feast. Call to you the ones born of evil, bind them to your deeds. Come be born for the way is cleared."   
Tendrils of the magic incantation touched the sphere of sleeping minds he had felt before, encased it, then seeped through.

* * *

At exactly 4.28 p.m. the digital monitor behind the surveillance station lighted up like a Christmas tree. Eric Thompson, the technician on duty, regarded the wildly blinking array with stoic calm. He had been in the service of the allied forces of Cybertron since West Central had been erected and he had served at all kinds of high security stations throughout this time. A sudden explosion of colorful alarms didn't really faze him. He had had his share of alarms, as well as panicky assistants or trainees. Thompson was renowned for his stoic calm. He quickly ran several checks, but the light continued blinking. Okay, so the call had to be made; no way around it. Thompson reached for the com unit and clicked it on.   
"Control, this is Thompson, section five."   
"Control, Thompson. What's up?"   
"I got a second degree alarm in the containment field generators. All checks have come back positive. It's definitely not a computer problem."   
"Copy that. Send me the data."   
Thompson complied. The control panel provided each shift's technician with a steady display of multiple security functions within the building where the Containment Unit was kept in: status locked or unlocked, in use or not in use, secure or not secure, normal entry or restricted entry, and half a dozen other specific indications. Everywhere sensors had been installed and they were all hard-wired to a near-by control station and again routed to main control. The sophistication of these sensors could pinpoint a fly in the system and it could be found within seconds and removed. Thompson saw how Control took over his console and started to run his own checks. The man on duty in the control center, Control as they called each one on duty, was Robert O'Malley, a friend of his, and a former security guard who had seen quite a lot of action throughout the Tji Wars. He had been a teenager back then and survived by pure chance, but this hadn't rattled him. If anything, it had driven O'Malley into the security service, working for the Alliance.   
Thompson waited for the whole ten seconds it took for Control to check everything, then he saw how his work station was disconnected and the engineer on duty was paged for an emergency.   
Five minutes later he was just a watcher as people swarmed over his console and checked and rechecked stuff.   
Ten minutes later he was sure that something serious was taking place.   
Half an hour later he knew for sure because the Unit was disconnected from general computer usage and he was told he had to spend the rest of his shift at another terminal.   
Thompson just shrugged. It was surprising, but not like it had happened the first time. When the engineers took over it meant that the controller was out of business for the time being. Deciding he could do with a coffee he left. On his way back from the coffee machine he noticed that two Autobots had arrived, one the chief medical officer, the other one of the head scientists; both had been involved developing the containment field for the Unit down here.   
"Huh, must be something very serious," he muttered.   
"Integrity going down," a new voice said.   
Thompson turned and discovered one of his co-workers. Ella McCarthy smiled, sipping at her soft drink can.   
"Integrity?" he asked, eyebrows rising. "Whoa!"   
"Why else do you think all the brass is coming down here because of a small alarm? And it's not been the first one."   
"And no one told me?!" he exclaimed.   
"Why should anyone? Problem was solved when it first appeared a few weeks back."   
Thompson snorted. "Oh, maybe because I'm working with that station day in and day out and might have an extra eye on something going wrong if I knew there had been an error."   
She smiled. "Oh, that."   
They watched the two Autobots talk with the engineers, then the chief medical officer walked away. His face was rather unreadable, but Thompson didn't have to be an expert to see the worry in it anyway.   
"Something very serious," he muttered.   
McCarthy shrugged. "Not our problem."   
"It is if it's an integrity breach. What if the thing blows?"   
She chuckled slightly. "It won't. They'd never allow a Containment Unit to blow and what should make it explode anyway? It's full of dormant program, nothing more, nothing less."   
Thompson sighed. He wasn't so sure about that, but he knew McCarthy was right that the Autobots would never let the thing blow. It was one of the most valuable installations on Cybertron and security around it was immense.   
"See ya," he said and walked off to where he would spend the remainder of his shift.

* * *

"Dark hair, dark eyes, about the size of us Protogens?"   
Razorclaw looked at the Protogen leader, then nodded slowly. Finding Spike in Cyclonus' office had been a surprise, but when his commander had ordered him to report he had done so.   
"Who is she?" Cyclonus now asked.   
Spike turned and smiled at him. "An old....acquaintance," he answered slowly. "I first met her in my early days as ambassador. She left quite an, well... impression."   
Cyclonus frowned slightly, doing some mathematics. "She is not human?"   
"Far from it. Her kind lives secluded, away from where others dwell, but sometimes they come out of what she once told they call 'The Darkness'. I can't really place her. When we met she was a security guard for one of the dignitaries and we got to talk." Spike shrugged. "There was also an assassination attempt at the time and she caught the guy. Unfortunately, she caught him in pieces." A slight grimace flew over his features.   
"And now this creature is on Cybertron."   
"She must have a reason; she rarely does anything this big without."   
"Aragon is a small time criminal," Razorclaw rumbled. "No big deal."   
Cyclonus slowly tapped his chin, then looked at Spike again. "Who is she?"   
"Her name is Fyrw'ker."   
The Counterstrike commander tapped his chin again. "Her race is registered?"   
"I doubt it. They live so secluded, only a few are sighted now and then. They mainly work as security guards for highly decorated officials. I met her, yes, but I never got to know her any more closely than her name, and I saw what she could do. Have fun dealing with her if she crosses your way," he added and turned to leave, his business here finished.   
"Spike?"   
He turned and looked at the taller Decepticon. "Yeah?"   
Cyclonus opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut again, shaking his head once. "Nothing."   
Spike just shrugged and left. When the door had closed after him, Cyclonus turned to Razorclaw. "Keep an eye on her. If she interferes in any way, apprehend her."   
Razorclaw nodded and left as well. Alone in his office, Cyclonus sat down in front of the computer and started his own back-log work.

* * *

She had arrived.   
All the more fun until he would leave.   
Good......

* * *

"Optimus Prime?"   
The Autobot leader looked up and discovered his chief medical officer standing in the open doorway to the small office. He nodded at him to enter. First Aid strode in, holding what looked like med pad, a medical notebook, and the expression in his visor was something Optimus didn't like.   
"What can I do for you?" he asked, folding his hands.   
"I believe we have a problem with the Containment Unit down in Below," the medic cut right to the problem. He rarely beat around the bush when it was a serious problem. "It seems instabilities have developed. I've tried to fix the problem, but nothing I do counteracts what is happening inside."   
"How serious is it?"   
"Very. The integrity of the whole system is in danger and it keeps collapsing over and over again. I'm afraid whatever the flaw is, it will in the end destroy the Unit."   
Prime frowned. He knew First Aid had developed the containment fields and they had been his pride and joy, so it had to be even worse for him to see that what he had constructed and planned breaking down.   
"What is the solution?"   
First Aid sighed. "We have started to check the other Unit for spare room, but it would really be a strain on the systems and we might end up with another problem on top of our current one. I propose to give the personality cores bodies."   
"Have you checked with Perceptor and Disaster?" Optimus knew he had, but he wanted to make sure.   
The medic nodded. "Disaster says to give him twenty-four hours and he can supply me with Protogen shells and Perceptor believes we can transfer one or two cores into normal bodies as well, though I'd prefer them as Protogens. I also informed Spike. I believe that as the leader of the Protogens he needs to know."   
Optimus nodded. "You know you can go ahead, First Aid. I trust in your judgment. I also want to have a copy of the checks on the containment field. Have you called in Nick for a second opinion?"   
First Aid hesitated. "No, not yet," he confessed. "I'll call him right away."   
"I just want him to give you a second opinion, First Aid, not question your skills."   
"I understand and I agree."   
"Nicholas is currently on Cybertron."   
"I'll page him myself, Prime. Perceptor is currently in Below and watching the containment field. You'll get an update ASAP."   
Optimus nodded and watched his chief medical officer leave. So much for having nothing but bureaucracy to deal with....

* * *

He didn't know how she had managed to get in here, but here she was and here he was, having to face this strange alien woman. Cyclonus looked into the eyes of an ancient, non-human creature that radiated danger quite strongly. All his instincts flared, yelling to get as much distance between himself and this woman, but he put a lid on them, controlling them.   
"You must be Fyrw'ker," he said, hearing how calm and even his voice was. Amazing, he thought.   
The almost black eyes fixed on him and he suppressed a shiver. From her appearance, Fyrw'ker came from human Native American heritage, her skin copper-colored, her long, black hair straight and down her back almost to her waist, her choice of clothes enhancing the effect. Still, she was much taller than a human being and her bearing was different.   
"Indeed," she answered coolly. "And you are Cyclonus, commander of the Counterstrike forces." She raised one eyebrow. "I have business here and you are in my way."   
Cyclonus' optics turned icy. "In your way?" he echoed.   
"Yes. Your men are trailing me and it's rather time and energy consuming to keep shaking them off. I'd like to ask you to stop this."   
He leaned forward. "Why?"   
Fyrw'ker's smile grew menacing. "Because otherwise you soon have to look for new applicants for open positions."   
"Is this a threat?"   
"No, a promise."   
Cyclonus clenched his jaw. "Why are you here?" he wanted to know.   
"Like I said: business. And it's none of your concern." Fyrw'ker smiled again. "Just keep out of my way."   
"It's my job to be on your way," Cyclonus ground out. "This concern security...."   
She laughed but there was no humor in it. "Security? Yeah, right. This planet is as much a cess pit of crime and pain as everyone I visited." His eyes flashed. Fyrw'ker smiled coldly again. "Don't worry about security. When I'm done, your planet will have one criminal less."   
"Aragon?"   
"That little thief? No. He's a rather small fish. I'm after something much bigger. Just leave me alone and maybe I can wrap it up without having to pick pieces of snoopy robots out of my hair."   
Fyrw'ker turned and simply strode out of the office. Cyclonus stared after her, then thumped his call button. "Mirage, Chromia, Divebomb, to my office ASAP!"   
There were three affirmatives. A grim expression appeared on Cyclonus' face. Leave her alone? No way! Especially now! A fleshling wouldn't tell him what to do, least of all this particular one. Cyclonus had a certain tolerance level concerning non-Cybertronians when they got on his nerves, but Fyrw'ker was supremely stretching it.

* * *

Nick had been in the high security room for hours now, almost half a day, and he was still showing no signs of either feeling tired or about to leave and declare her was done. First Aid watched the dark-haired human, once again surprised by his stamina, his will-power and sheer enthusiasm for everything mechanical or technical. Nick had a unique talent which no one had ever been able to explain fully. He might be called a 'mutant' if a comic author had been asked, but others merely called him talented. Nicholas Cavanaugh had an incredible talent concerning repairs of mechanical stuff. He looked at something and he just knew what he had to do. No schematics, no plans, no explanation needed; he fiddled, probed, and in the end it worked.   
Right now he was pouring over read-outs and making notes, then rechecking something from prior examinations. Nick had been called from a routine repair check on Metroplex, whose chief engineer he had been for years after Raoul Simone had stepped down from this position, but when his travels with his Interface partner, the Seeker leader Tornado, had taken him off Cybertron too often, he had stepped down as well. He liked to lend a hand, but he tried not to appear like he was out to challenge the current chief engineer for the job.   
Finally he straightened and rubbed his neck, rotating his shoulders. First Aid smiled slightly, hidden behind the mouth cover.   
"All right!" Nick sighed. "I can't find anything technically wrong with the whole Unit. Everything is working within perimeters set and the sensors are not malfunctioning. Whatever it is, it's not a tech or mech problem; it's coming from within."   
First Aid found his worst fears repeated. "So it's the field inside or an integrity or instability problem of the cores."   
Nick chewed on his lower lip. "Possible. That's what I'll tackle next."   
"You might want to get some rest first."   
Nick raised both eyebrows. "Rest? Now? You might want to slug me unconscious to accomplish that; nothing short of that would work."   
The chief medic chuckled. "So I know. Shall we proceed then?"   
Nick nodded and followed his friend to he security air lock leading into the chamber of the Containment Unit down in Below.

* * *

Spike really didn't know what he was doing here. This area of Strata was not the best of places but also not the worst, and he didn't really have to fear anything from the lowest forms of human society such as it was. They didn't dare attack a fully armed Cybertronian, whatever size, especially when the possible victim didn't look like on the verge of a breakdown or otherwise weak. The street appeared deserted and the few shops he saw didn't look like they were selling like crazy. Amidst the small shops was a book shop. It stuck out since it was freshly painted in a dark, deep green color and the window display was clean. A wooden sign said 'Tom's Things'. The shop as such was unusual to begin with because, even though Strata was a rather modern and new city, it managed to look about two hundred years old. Then there was the fact that it sold books and could accommodate aliens up to the size of Spike. To add to that and judging from the display the book shop sold occult stuff. Spike raised a brow.   
Intriguing.   
Still, it didn't explain the letter that had arrived in his mail box out of nowhere, asking him to come here and meet someone, also mentioning the name Fyrw'ker, which had been the only reason why he had come anyway. He had enough to deal with in West Central, especially with the malfunctioning Containment Unit, but Backdraft was taking care of things for him.   
Now he entered and a bell rang, announcing his entry. The room he was stood in was larger than expected, but crammed with books and other stuff. There were crystal balls, rabbit paws, pointy hats, stuffed animals, little amulets and other items you could find in such stores. The whole room was brightly lit, not so dark and mysterious as Spike would have imagined a place that sold occult stuff. A small smile played around his lips.   
Something moved and Spike's optics pinned a shadowy figure. It was a humanoid alien, an old man, gray-haired and wrinkled. Spike guessed he was a Tykk, a nearly human race of traders who were much taller than human, more enduring and could grow as old as four hundred years. He was slightly hunched over and resting most of his weight on a cane.   
"So there you are," he said, voice cracking with age. Spike was no expert at judging Tykk age, but this one was ancient even for such a long-lived race.   
"You wrote the letter?" he asked, coming right to the point.   
"Me? Oh, no. Hands too shaky nowadays. But it was me asking for you." The old eyes met his bright blue optics and Spike was surprised by the power he saw in the dark depths.   
"May I ask why, Mr....?"   
The man chuckled. "My name is J'hn Sith. Humans and some other aliens tend to call my John." He smiled slightly. "As for why I called. It concerns a mutual acquaintance of ours. Her name is Fyrw'ker."   
Spike kept his expression neutral and the old man smiled again.   
"I know you know her. And I know who and what you are, Spike. She talked about you once or twice, which tells us more than anything. She considered you a friend or an ally back when you met."   
"Us?" Spike inquired, suddenly on his toes.   
"I am what you could call a watcher, my friend. I know the deeper and darker secrets of this universe, of legends and myths, of fables and old wives stories. I no longer run with the young, but my job is still the same: watch out for Fyrw'ker's kind when they are on a job, a hunt."   
He gestured at Spike to follow him. The Protogen leader was confused, unable to make sense of most of what 'John' had told him. They entered the back room and Spike was surprised how totally different this place was from the book shop outside. Here, everything was high tech. There was a large desk full of papers and books, a high shelf, equally cluttered with books, and a coffee machine and fridge, as well as a large TV and VCR. The rest was filled to the last inch with machines and computer arrays, all of the latest production dates.   
"This is my kind of work. I monitor who is where. I know every hunter and their associates, and I know where they are and what their identities are. Fyrw'ker contacted me when she came to the city and asked for some help. I gave it to her. She cannot contact me directly, more openly or too often, and hunters rarely do. They call for the basics, then go on alone. We only watch."   
"Why did you call me?" he repeated his earlier question.   
"Ah, yes. The letter. You see, Fyrw'ker is one of my problem protégés; I think she is my only problem and probably always will be. The young are rash and like to boast, but I can keep them in check. Some of the very old try to overrule my decisions as a watcher, but I can deal with that as well. Fyrw'ker is old and she is a protector in her own rights, but she easily lets her temper control her." The old man smiled toothily. "I know you and Fyrw'ker have a special relationship. And this is the reason I called."   
Spike studied the wrinkled features and frowned slightly. Something about this guy unnerved him. "I met her only once and that was quite some time ago. We never got past the initial introduction and all I did was survive throughout a mad rush. She left and I never saw her again until now. I also only heard she was back on Cybertron; she hasn't come to meet me."   
"Oh, you two will meet, quite soon I even suspect. Don't believe what she tells you and sounds plausible. I cannot reveal her intention because it's not my place, but you have to be on her side, trust and support her. You are a friend and she will turn to you. Help her."   
It was a simple enough request, Spike had to confess, but it was not so simple in his terms. "What if she refuses?"   
"Then insist." John smiled slightly again, straightening from his cane.   
He walked over to one of the computer chairs and sat down, turning away from the robot. Spike stayed a minute longer, waiting, but when nothing came forth he left again, none the wiser.   
Okay, so Fyrw'ker was on Cybertron hunting for someone; nothing new there. He knew that already. Did he have to look for her or should he wait until she unveiled her presence? Knowing her, it would be too late by then and she was actually annoying Cybertron security already. Spike sighed. He would go hunting himself now.

* * *

His task was completed. Time to go somewhere else and continue. Of course, he would have loved to watch the outcome of this little crisis-turned-chaos, but it would endanger him and his life. He chuckled.   
Well, no tears lost about it. On to bigger things. Maybe some out and open destruction of something? No... wait... he smiled to himself. His hunter had come quite close in the last few days and he might have to throw her off track a bit. And it wouldn't hurt to show his master, the Lord of Chaos, a bit of respect. He hadn't performed a sacrifice for too long....

* * *

Spike had only asked a few questions and had been pointed the right way. There was no way missing Fyrw'ker when someone looked for the right traces and after that first meeting and witnessing what she was capable of, Spike knew. It had been a while and maybe she had changed, but then again, it was Fyrw'ker and she never changed. She was a straight-forward, no-nonsense and direct person. Now he entered the hotel lobby, looked around and went straight for the elevators. It was just like Fyrw'ker to choose one of the most exquisite hotels in Westridge, one that accommodated almost all alien life forms, even of her and his size. Being the Protogen leader had its advantages, he thought wryly. He had hacked his way into the hotel files, gone through the list through exclusion and finally found the right room.   
Spike knocked and then stood back, waiting. The door didn't open for a while, then it clicked once and slowly revealed the tall, dark-skinned woman he had never really been able to purge from his mind. Spike smiled at her.   
"Hello, Fyrw'ker. It's been a while."   
"Who are you?" she asked, voice flat and dangerous. Spike was certain she had at least ten weapons hidden within throwing reach and he'd die in three different ways before he even knew it if he made a mistake.   
"Oh, the famous skills are aging," Spike said pleasantly, aware he was walking a thin line. "Former ambassador to Cybertron, Adam Witwicky. Call me Spike now."   
Fyrw'ker's brows knitted into a frown and she studied his new body and then fixed him with a dark look. "You changed."   
"Accident."   
"What do you want?"   
Spike smiled. "Well, I'd like this conversation to take place behind closed doors, but I know that's impossible, so I say it here in the corridor; I was wondering why you came here again."   
Fyrw'ker's smile was cold and dark. "Business. You working for this Counterstrike force?"   
"No, not at all. Are you employed or working free-lance on whatever it is that brought you here?"   
She chuckled, motioning him to come in. Spike did just that. "What brings me here is business, Spike," she then said. "And yes, it's employment. I'm working to get paid. I'm after someone who skipped prison and is expected back for a trial."   
"You are a bounty hunter."   
Fyrw'ker smiled humorlessly. "If you want to call it that."   
"You might want to clear some things with the local security before you step on their combined toes, Fyr. Cyclonus won't leave this topic alone now that you kicked his shins and if Kup gets wind of possible security risks, you won't be able to cough without ten of them coming down on you."   
"Then you have to deal with ten fatal accidents," Fyrw'ker said calmly.   
Spike sighed. "You really haven't changed."   
"Why should I?"   
"Oh, yes, right, you've been doing so well with your old attitude, right?"   
The woman was immediately on the edge, her eyes briefly flaring with a reddish golden fire. Her whole posture tensed.   
"I wouldn't go on in the personal insults department, Spike," she whispered.   
He held up his hands as if to surrender. "Just friendly advice. Fyr, I know your style. Last time we had two casualties, ten injured and several hundred thousand dollars worth of damage."   
She raised an eyebrow. "Only two, eh? Have to work on my style."   
"Fyr...."   
"I won't tell, Spike, and even though we go back a few decades, you are far from a confidant to me. I won't tell you any more than Cyclonus, and if anyone of you gets in my way..... you know I don't like getting disturbed at work."   
Spike sighed and shook his head. "Have it your way."   
He left the hotel room again and was on his way back to West Central half an hour later.

* * *

"Did she give you a name?"   
Spike shook his head and Cyclonus' face darkened. "No name, no idea. I just know she is after someone who is about to go on trial and she will get him, no matter what, that I can assure you."   
"I will check on her story," the Decepticon growled. "The rules are there to be obeyed. Bounty hunters are supposed to get in contact with the local authorities, and that is either Kup or me. I checked back with Kup: she didn't register there either."   
Sil sighed, nodding. "Well, at least Spike knows a bit about her."   
"And I want to know a lot more about her. Go and interview about this bounty hunter, Silhouette, I'll try my own sources."   
"Okay."   
Cyclonus watched her leave, shaking his head again, then he set about his task.

* * *

Spike watched Disaster and his team work. Within the last twelve hours they had created about a dozen new Protogen shells ready to receive a personality core and five more were almost ready. Disaster was working non-stop. It was necessary due to the imminent breakdown of the Unit in Below. Spike tapped his fingers against the wall, unaware he was doing it. He had come by to check on what was going on with the new Protogens, though his mind was running around the Fyrw'ker problem as well. Why did two problems always have to collide?   
"Everything will be fine," Backdraft said, almost startling him.   
Spike turned and looked at his second-in-command, shaking his head. "Stop that," he said, amusement in his voice.   
She gave him a quizzical look.   
"Reading my mind," he added.   
Backdraft chuckled softly. "Just reading you, commander. I know what you are thinking by just looking at you. Doesn't need a telepath."   
"Huh, scary." He smiled wryly.   
"Yeah, especially since I'm the one reading you. Spike, everything will be fine. We'll get about two dozen more Protogen robots and the Containment Unit might stabilize."   
"Might. What if it doesn't?"   
"Well, how about we burn that bridge when we get there?" Backdraft suggested.   
Spike smiled again. "I'll go get the matches, you look for some explosives."   
She laughed and gestured at him to leave with her. "Come on, let's get some air. We'll both have our hands full when they awaken."   
Spike followed her, casting a last look over his shoulder back at the silent body shells. Soon they'd be alive and each harboring a different personality and consciousness. Yes, they'd have all their hands full. Oh, fun.   
"So, what is this other problem you are worried about?" Backdraft asked.   
He sighed. "An old friend popped up here and she is spreading trouble."   
"Ah. How old a friend is this 'she'?"   
"Very old. From my days as an ambassador, when I was still human – when I was in my early years of being an official representative." Spike shrugged. "We met once, we had trouble back then which she helped solve in her rather violent way, and she disappeared again."   
"Now she is back."   
"Exactly. Since I know her, everybody thinks I know all *about* her as well, though I don't."   
"What's the plan?" Backdraft wanted to know.   
"Right now? Sit back and wait what happens. Fyrw'ker, that's her name, can be invisible if she wants to and whatever she has come here to do, we won't fight out until she is ready to reveal it."   
They walked through the wide corridor leading Topside and which ended up in West Central.   
"Could you keep an optic on the CU problem?" Spike asked.   
She smiled. "Sure. I'll also keep you updated. Don't worry."   
"I think it's the fate of a commander to worry."   
Backdraft laughed softly. "Thank Primus that I'm only second-in-command of a commander then, right?"   
Spike only grimaced.

* * *

She hadn't expected the attack to come this quickly and he nearly had her. The swiftness was amazing, the strength stunning, and Fyrw'ker knew had she been human or any other frail organic being, she would have died immediately. So she merely suffered some heavy bruising and was roughly thrown to the ground. She jumped up, eyes flashing, then went into a defensive stance. Her opponent smiled darkly and attacked again.   
They traded blows for a while, then she delivered a roundhouse kick and heard the jaw of the taller creature crack dangerously. She followed with a double fist to the sensitive abdominal area and he howled in pain. But he was still not down – and no brought on the heavier weapons. A sharp knife glinted in the artificial light of the near-by lamp and she only shook her head.   
"You never learn."   
Five minutes later she sat on his back, his arm bent at an unnatural angle on his back, drawing whimpers of pain out of him.   
"Who hired you?"   
The alien shut his mouth, biting his lower lip hard as she put pressure on his arm again.   
"Who hired you?" Fyrw'ker repeated, voice level and cold.   
"I don't know!" he cried.   
"Who?" she asked once more.   
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't *know*!" the alien screamed, very much in pain. "He gave me money to take you out, lady!"   
Fyrw'ker nodded. "Hi name!" she demanded.   
"I don't know!" he wailed.   
She put some more pressure on the arm and he squealed in pain. Finally she let go and the larger alien groaned, rolling slowly around. His narrow yellow eyes looked at her, intimidated and very much scared.   
"Thank you," Fyrw'ker simply said, then she kicked him swiftly and hard, sending him into the blackness of oblivion.   
Leaving the unconscious alien attacker lying where he was. Either he'd be robbed by his 'friends' down here or he'd wake up sooner or later. She didn't care. So her target had sent an assassin after her – a blundering one as well. Fyrw'ker shook her head. She had expected more of him.   
There was a sudden jolt from her back, as if she had been slapped hard. Something seemed to have slammed into her. She stumbled forward, automatically going into a crouch to evade another shot of whatever had been fired, and then the pain hit her.   
It was excruciating, worse than she would have thought from a bullet, a laser burn or anything else. It seared through her like liquid fire and purged all rational thought.   
She felt instinct take over as he body shifted to get rid of the alien object, but it stuck tight. With a cry of agony she fell back, panting hard, then there was only darkness.

* * *

Disaster stood back, exhausted, his weary optics seeing double already. In the last hours he had created as many Protogens as possible and still there was no telling if those were enough. Chaos, Perceptor, Skywolf and First Aid had all been employed to help with the delicate transfers, but it was still a strain. He was in charge of Protogen technology and he had to keep an optic on everything.   
"Hey."   
He turned and looked at a rarely seen face in med bay. "Hey," Disaster replied tiredly.   
Catastrophe gave him a critical look. "You look ready to recharge for a week, my friend. Work?"   
"Only work. We have a slight crisis on hand." Disaster shrugged.   
"So I heard."   
Catastrophe had been around only a few times since the small team of Autobots and Decepticons who had formed the only male/female combiner team in the history of Cybertron had surfaced. She kept herself busy with getting to know her old homeworld again and it took her to faraway niches of Cybertron. Sometimes Calamity or Overload accompanied her, but mostly she went alone.   
"Anything I can help you with?"   
Disaster cast a look over the silent Protogens that still needed checking and fine-tuning. "Where do you want to start?" he asked, smiling wryly.   
She chuckled and grabbed one of the scanners, reading over the setting already preprogrammed. Both former team mates set to work and Disaster found himself easily slipping into the team work routine again. An hour later Chaos joined them and it was almost like back in the old days – especially when both females combined their will power and sent him to recharge.

* * *

Spike didn't like med bay; he really had an aversion to it. Spending too much time here personally and seeing too many friends fighting for their lives in treatments rooms were probably the reason. Crossing the large waiting area he walked straight toward the emergency treatment rooms. First Aid intercepted him at the door, nodding a silent greeting. Spike shot a look into the nearest room but it wasn't Fyrw'ker in there.   
"Thanks for coming, Spike." First Aid indicated that he should follow him.   
"What happened?" Spike asked.   
"Knife attack, I believe." First Aid's voice was level, but he heard suppressed anger in it. "As well as a crossbow bolt directly into her back. I managed to get the bolt out, but it was inside long enough to poison her and put her into a lot of pain."   
"Poison?"   
The medic sighed. "It was made of platinum and the metal reacted with her blood as it seems. She must be allergic to it or her kind has extreme reactions to it. It worked like an acid in a way, but not too quickly."   
Spike's features darkened. "Who?" he demanded.   
"I don't know. No one has seen anything – as is usual in this area – and she was lucky that she managed to get as far as where she was found before she collapsed. Friend of yours, I take it? At least she insisted we call you."   
"Old acquaintance. I wouldn't really call her a friend." Spike shrugged slightly. "Curious that she would mention my name; we met only once and I never approved of her methods of dealing with things."   
"Ah. Well, she lost a lot of blood and is currently unconscious, but we believe she gets through it within the next twenty-four hours."   
"Good. I'd like to stay with her until she wakes if possible, First Aid," Spike then said. "I think she and I need to have a word. And she might need a bodyguard as well – in case her attacker tries it again."   
It was a rather weak argument since med bay was under tight security and getting here was not easy.   
"Are you volunteering?" the chief medic now asked with an audible smile.   
"Are you accepting?"   
"Just be careful," he warned him. "She is running a high fever and she doesn't know where she is from time to time. We had quite an episode before we figured which sedative would work. My assistant is currently trying to close the punctures. Your friend might be out of it, but she can still slash limbs. She seems to have limited shape-shifter capabilities.   
"I'll be careful. And the abilities are not so limited."   
"Oh."   
Spike just smiled at First Aid and then entered the supervised treatment room where Fyr would be kept until she either was better or had to be moved to an ICU. Fyrw'ker was covered in sweat, her body curled around a pillow, fingers biting into the soft material, eyes screwed shut. She was shivering, twitching from time to time, moaning softly. Spike had never seen her so weak, so totally unlike the strong, feral creature he had learned to greatly respect a few decades back. He had never really been able to figure her out and her methods were far too final and brutal to meet his acceptance, but she got her job done. They had exchanged a few pleasantries and he had been part of the 'rescue operation', but only a minor one.   
He looked at her. Fyrw'ker's left shoulder was bandaged and blood had leaked through the white material because she was moving too much. Apparently the sedative was wearing off way to fast. Spike ran through what he had found out about her and hit something likely: her body fought off foreign substances automatically – and with an incredible speed. Of course it would fight injections, just like it was fighting the poison.   
Silently Spike approached and sat down on the chair next to the bed. "You always get yourself into tight spots, right?" he muttered, remembering their first meeting. "And you refuse to accept back-up – just as usual, just like back then."   
Fyrw'ker whimpered as if she had heard him and her eyes fluttered open. They were glazed, the fever shining in them, and he knew she didn't really see him.   
"Who did this to you?" he whispered, not expecting an answer and getting none. "Why are you here? What did you come looking for?"   


The next hours were spent watching nurses cooling the feverish skin of their patient and keeping Fyrw'ker company as she was running the same circle over and over again: sedative, fighting the drug off, stronger sedative, short time of rest, then agitation again. She was barely aware of him or where she was. Spike heard her whimpers and murmurs in a language he believed had to be her native tongue. First Aid gave up with trying out different pain-killers or sedatives after a while, telling Spike it might be best to let her go the natural way: fighting it off on her own.

* * *

Cyclonus shook his head. "Someone attacked her?"   
Silhouette nodded. "No sign of the attacker, no witnesses and the victim is still unconscious. Spike will stay in med bay."   
"What about this Aragon person?"   
"No trace. He disappeared off the face of this planet. I set three men on it and no one has found anything."   
"Did you check Fyrw'ker's story?"   
Sil nodded. "She is what she claims to be: bounty hunter. I contacted the address we found on her ID-card and the man on the other end of the line verified everything. The company she works for employs bounty hunters and the like and they are a professional business, but still..." She shook her head.   
Cyclonus regarded her thoughtfully. "You think something's amiss?"   
Sil nodded. "Everything fits and it makes me itchy, mainly because though the story sounds all right, the participants don't."   
"Exactly my feelings."   
"So what now?"   
The Decepticon commander frowned slightly. "Spike is our only working link to Fyrw'ker and our only source. He might not be what I would call a friend of hers, but he knows her. I believe that he will find out the truth, I just don't know how long it will take him."   
"Let's hope not too long."   
There was a short knock on the door and Chromia poked her head in. "News," she announced. "Well, kinda."   
"You found the attacker?" Cyclonus wanted to know.   
Chromia shook her head, then shrugged. "I found traces and I have to check them. No one saw anything, the old, old story.... First Aid told me Fyrw'ker should be okay within the next twenty-four hours, that's good."   
Spike nodded. "Good for her, though it also means she'll be trying to get up and out of med bay ASAP. She is still after the guy."   
"Cross your fingers that we find him first."   
"Who is currently on it?"   
"Razorclaw."   
Cyclonus nodded. "Okay. Keep on it."   
"You know we will."   
Silhouette left with Chromia, casting a last look over her shoulder at her commanding officer and team mate. She knew Cyclonus was worried and not really amused, but there was nothing any of them could do until they found either the attacker or the reason why.

* * *

The room was not very large for a Cybertronian, but it was large enough to easily fit the Containment Unit, as the silver, perfectly polished sphere was called. The sphere had no markings of any kind, appearing totally smooth at first sight. There was an odd shifting iridescence, faint rainbow hues of blue and red and green, gleaming in the metal. Someone had once jokingly remarked that the Unit looked like an oversized Christmas ornament and Nick thought he was right. The material of the sphere was not unlike the Protogen metal, though it was missing the 'ants'. There were two Units all in all, this one down here in Below and another one Topside under heavy guard.   
The side of the Unit turned away from the door was adorned by a series of deep, convoluted grooves, creating an intricate pattern on the otherwise smooth surface. Beneath it lay the actual access panel.   
Nicholas had spent another twelve hours checking the integrity field inside the Containment Unit and he and First Aid had come to the same, frightening conclusion. Something inside was responsible for the instability. The read-outs said it all.   
"But what could it be?" Nick asked, chewing on his lower lip.   
The Containment Units had been constructed after Vector Sigma had gone down and they were creating the same field as had been inside the super computer. Nothing had been changed and each Unit, there were two in all, contained a safe amount of dormant personalities. Nothing had been added, nothing had been taken away.   
"We might need to run a complete check," Cavanaugh said thoughtfully. "But that would take days."   
"We don't have days, Nicholas," First Aid reminded him.   
He sighed. "I'm quite aware of that." Nick rubbed his forehead and smothered a yawn. "I'd give the field about one more day, then it goes critical."   
First Aid nodded in agreement. "You should go and get some rest now, Nicholas. You have been up long enough."   
"You are starting to sound like my partner," the human grumbled. "It's been bad enough to have him muttering in the background all the time and grousing about me not getting sleep."   
The chief medic laughed softly. "Well, what can I say? He's right!"   
Nick held up his hands. "All right!" he exclaimed. "I give in! Just let me know if anything changes, okay?"   
"Of course. We'll start with the first transfers within the next six hours. Disaster will be in charge of the process and I will assist him."   
"Okay, see you in a few hours."   
Nick left the room, stripping off the white coverall he had worn inside the Unit's chamber. Dumping the clothes to get cleaned or recycled he tiredly made his way to the elevator Topside. Getting home took another thirty minutes and by the time he left the Monorail and rode the elevator to the personal quarters level in West Central, he was half asleep. By the time the door closed after him, his legs automatically took him to the large double bed, and when he hit the mattress, he was sound asleep.

* * *

Fyrw'ker woke to the sensation of something being wrong. She tried to analyze her situation, trying to recall what had happened. Her body ached slightly, mostly her shoulder, and with the distant pain came the memory of the attack. She tensed almost immediately. The memories assaulted her confused mind, hurled her back into the dark alleyway when something had buried itself into her shoulder, igniting a fiery pain deep within her being. She remembered running, stumbling, seeing a shadow follow her. She remembered fighting, the smell of blood, her own body betraying her as it weakened rapidly. She winced as she recalled the blade rising to decapitate her, her body and mind paralyzed from the pain of poison in her blood, still fighting, the desire to live stronger than the smell of death. Her shoulder throbbed, but it was no longer the pain she recalled. It was a healed wound of an object that had caused her immense suffering. A poisoned bolt. She had escaped, she had survived, but the wound would most likely leave a scar.   
Someone had saved her. Fyrw'ker frowned. Her mind was a blank concerning what had happened after her attacker had tried to take her head off. She had no clue.... Her other senses rose more and more and she took in the scent of the room around her, of antiseptics and metal, of sterile rooms and the smell of sickness, dampened by the antiseptics.   
Med bay.   
How had she arrived in med bay?!   
Fyrw'ker tried to move, but he body betrayed her, too weak to put up much a struggle.   
"Welcome back to the world of the conscious," someone said as she cracked her eyes open by sheer force of will and she tensed even more.   
A face swam into focus. It was a robot with an unreadable expression, his optics hidden by a visor, his lower face beneath a face mask. He was colored in red and white.   
"My name is First Aid," the robot told her. "I'm the chief medic."   
Fyrw'ker tried to rise again, biting her lower lip as her injuries protested, but she didn't give a sound of pain. "And I'm leaving!" she managed.   
She didn't come far. Fyrw'ker managed to get up halfway, then lost balance and toppled back, even sliding off the bed and coming in contact with the floor. Someone hauled her carefully back to her feet and she instinctively fought the Cybertronian medic.   
"Let me go!" she demanded weakly, struggling in his hold. She tried to swipe at him, but he easily deflected the claws.   
"You are my patient, whether you like it or not. As long as you are injured, I'm responsible for you," First Aid told her sternly and maneuvered the protesting woman back to bed. "Stay! You need to rest."   
Fyrw'ker felt her body second that and she hissed softly.   
"Hey, Fyr," a familiar voice said.   
She turned her head and discovered Spike. "Get me out of here!" she demanded.   
"No chance. First Aid is the boss here. He tells you when you are allowed to leave."   
She glowered at the Autobot, but he was quite immune to it. Spike smiled slightly.   
"Take it easy," he told her. "You can't go out hunting for Mr. Mysterious the shape you are in."   
"Watch me!"   
He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Okay."   
Fyrw'ker snorted, glaring at the ceiling now. First Aid left them alone and Spike settled down on a chair close by.   
"Do you know what happened?"   
"I was attacked."   
"We can see that, Fyr. But did you actually see who it was?"   
She glowered at him. "I was shot, Spike. Do you think I saw the guy who shot me from *behind* in the shoulder?"   
He smiled disarmingly. "I know what you are capable of."   
Fyrw'ker laughed coldly. "Especially when I get poisoned, right?"   
Spike sighed. "You are not helping. We are trying to aid you here and you are pushing everyone away. Fyr, we are not trying to get part of the bounty; we want to remove a possible threat to the planet."   
She evaded his eyes and resumed staring at the ceiling.

* * *

Night had fallen over West Central, though night was nothing more but a change of shifts and a small decline of activity here. Still, following a night-day rhythm had proven to be of advantage when working with organic life forms and the clocks showed night time. Med bay was as busy as always, though more quiet compared to days. Samantha walked into the ward unhindered, using her powers to pass by the medical personnel and patients without them noticing. She rarely hid herself like this, but tonight it was necessary. She wanted a moment of privacy. Entering one of the many rooms meant for overnight or day patients she looked at the form lying in the bed.   
"Good evening."   
Fyrw'ker's head snapped up and her eyes glowed briefly, then she relaxed slightly, though she was still ready to attack if Sam proved to be a threat.   
"Who are you?" she demanded.   
"You know me, Fyrw'ker. At least my kind."   
The other woman's eyes narrowed and her brows drew into a steep line. "That's impossible," she finally said after a while. "You don't mingle."   
Sam laughed softly. "As much as you do. We mingle when we have a reason to."   
"And yours is?"   
"None of your concern."   
Fyrw'ker twisted her mouth into a smile. "I see. Why are you here in my room?"   
"To give you an advice. I know why you are here because I have felt the Legend arrive. I haven't moved against it yet because it is your territory and your job; I won't interfere. But let me give you this one advice: accept help. The Cybertronians and humans are capable of giving it and you'd be foolish to judge them as weak or unable to be of assistance."   
Fyrw'ker rumbled slightly. "I work alone."   
"And you live alone. Here you are among others; accept what they can give you."   
"And accept their death?"   
"No one has to die."   
Fyrw'ker rumbled again. "I will think about it."   
Sam refrained from sighing. "Just think reality and not dreams. Don't underestimate the others, don't overestimate your own abilities." She turned and left again.   


Fyrw'ker stared at the empty space the other woman had been a mere second ago. She knew what she was and it surprised her that one of her kind had chosen this world as a residence. From the overall feeling Fyrw'ker suspected she had been here for a while. So this woman wanted her to accept help from others? Fyr frowned deeply and growled to herself. She had never had to rely on outside help; hunters worked alone. To trust someone else was to be vulnerable.   
To trust no one as well....

* * *

Shanygn hadn't seen a lot of Nick lately and she knew he was very busy in below, helping First Aid and Perceptor with the Containment Unit. That was a problem with him. Nick couldn't let go of a problem until it was solved to his satisfaction and he forgot his bodily needs over that. He could go on for days without or just a little sleep and it was up to his friends and colleagues to throw him out and send him to bed. First Aid was a medic and he had worked with Nicholas long enough to know when his human friend needed rest. More than once had Shanygn had to listen to Nick's rants about being bodily evicted from med bay or somewhere else because they wanted him to sleep. She smiled.   
And the smiled widened when she stepped into the shared quarters and discovered him lying in the tangled sheets of their bed. He hadn't even bothered to undress, except for the shoes, and had simply crashed on the bed. She was just about to leave when he muttered something.   
"What time is it?" a muffled voice demanded to know.   
She walked to the bed and met two blurry, sleepy eyes. Nick's hair was unruly, his face slightly too pale and he looked like he needed a week of sleep.   
"To early," Shan replied. "Go back to sleep."   
Nick smothered a yawn and rubbed his eyes. "'M awake," he mumbled.   
"Sure."   
"Am!"   
Shanygn smiled gently. "You would be far more awake if you slept for a while longer, hon, so back to bed with you."   
Nick grimaced. "I'm awake," he repeated, forcing his numb tongue to work. "And I have a job to finish."   
"Yes, that job is called 'get some rest'. Want me to call First Aid or Disaster and ask whether or not they absolutely need you."   
This time the grimace was more pronounced. "Unfair."   
"All fair. Come on....."   
He sighed and fell back against the pillow.   
"How about undressing as well?" Shanygn added, raising an eyebrow.   
A sly smile appeared on Nick's lips. "I thought you had said to get some sleep."   
Shanygn whacked him with a pillow. "You are impossible!"   
Nicholas caught the pillow and laughed softly. "And that is why you love me."   
"No, that is why I'm wondering about my sanity from time to time," was the reply.   
He stuck out his tongue but at least he got rid of his work clothes and crawled under the covers. Shanygn stayed for a while, watching her partner fall almost immediately asleep again, then she left.

* * *

Cyclonus regarded the smaller organic alien in front of him with cold, rather unkind optics. He didn't like to be kept in the dark when it concerned his job. It had taken Spike some time to convince Fyrw'ker to come and talk and he was glad she didn't come fully armed, though with her you could never be certain.   
"He's a wanted criminal," Fyrw'ker finally said. "He was convicted several times before, but he always had the lawyer to keep him out of jail. The security forces on Kahaan 8 apprehended him after he killed five people and injured over twenty-five severely. Kahaan doesn't have the lax law system most of the worlds have and they sentenced him to death."   
Cyclonus' optics just flashed once, but Spike showed his surprise more openly. "Death?"   
She nodded. "Kill their own and die yourself, or something like this. When he escaped they set our company on the trail. We are the best and we always get who we are after. He knows it, which is why he has started to round up some assassins to take me out."   
"He nearly succeeded," the Decepticon remarked.   
"Nearly. But he still failed."   
"So.... what's the description of this murderer?"   
Fyrw'ker shot him a dark look. "I don't need your help."   
"I'm not offering. This concerns West Central security and I have a right to know."   
She snorted. "You don't know half of what is going on around your so-called 'perimeter' and this is just one more anonymous criminal among many."   
Cyclonus felt his temper rise. "Listen, fleshling...."   
Fyrw'ker's eyes suddenly lit up with a dangerous red light and she hissed. "Don't call me that!"   
"And why not?" he snapped.   
Spike quickly stepped between them, aware that he was putting himself into danger as well. "Stop it, guys, this gets us nowhere. Fyr, we want to help and you know you might need help from the legal authorities here. If West Central or planetary security wants to kick your ass, they will, and you know that as well, right?"   
She glared at him now, but finally nodded slowly. "I won't accept a partner or baby-sitter!"   
"How about a friend?" Spike asked.   
Fyrw'ker met his optics. "Maybe."   
Spike turned to Cyclonus. "Would that be okay with you?"   
The Counterstrike commander regarded him silently for a while. "I want a daily report," he finally decided. "Or I'll send someone after you."   
"You will get it."   
Fyrw'ker snorted again, but refrained from commenting. Spike followed her as she left Cyclonus' office.

* * *

Chromia had lost the trail and she felt rather moody. She knew that her informants would keep eyes and ears open, but it might take a while to pick up the trail of the attacker once more. As she went up the stairs that connected one of the intermediate levels with the main level where Cyclonus' office was located, she contemplated what to do next. Her commander wouldn't be happy and she knew her comrades had been just as unlucky as she had been in their search for the guy who had done this. It was a blow in their faces, a threat to their security and an embarrassment on top of it.   
She entered the office and by the looks of it, Cyclonus was not in a good mood either. Silhouette was present and from her expression, she was dancing around her boss and team mate like on egg shells. As she discovered Chromia she gestured her to wait; she'd be with her in a moment. The female Autobot sighed. That meant Cyclonus was in really, really bad mood. Not that he ever exploded into raving attack happiness like Galvatron had done in his time; just the opposite. Chromia had never known Cyclonus before the alliance, just heard of him, and now she had gotten to know a controlled and sometimes rather uptight Decepticon commander who never took his anger out on his subordinates. It was what made him such a pleasant person to work with and it was why many of the Autobots on Counterstrike never felt like their were not part of the team – since it was a Decepticon commanding them.   
"We got a call from Kup, who in turn got a call from Optimus," Silhouette said as she joined her. They both walked into the adjoining room.   
"Because of the attack?"   
"Looks like it. Kup demanded to know what is going on and why he wasn't informed since he is head of security. Cyclonus explained and Kup just went on ranting. I think he was simply feeling left out, though Primus knows he has enough on his hands already. He should be glad someone is there to handle cases and not ask too many dumb questions. Anyway, Cyclonus is in a mood and we better not get him in deeper." Sil looked at her and then sighed. "No trace, right?"   
Chromia nodded. Sil sighed again.   
"I lost the trail in the Badlands." The female explained, shrugging. "Razorclaw said he'd follow the trail, even though it's freezing cold."   
"Okay....." Silhouette pursed her lips. "Why is it always the Badlands? Looks like we really have to deal with this area sooner or later."   
Chromia laughed humorlessly. "They have been there since I can think, Sil. They will always be there. Will you tell the boss?"   
"Only if I have to. I'll tell him Razorclaw is trailing the suspect, nothing more, nothing less."   
"It's your head."   
The female Dinobot chuckled. "I know how to handle him, Chromia, trust me."   
Chromia did. She knew Silhouette had been a good choice for second-in-command and he had never backed down from Cyclonus when she was convinced what she was doing was right.   
"See ya."   
Silhouette waved.

* * *

Razorclaw prowled through the Badlands, optics warily watching every shadow, every movement. Here, the lowest life forms of Cybertron had found a refuge. Here, you could disappear without one seeing where you had gone. The Badlands had always been part of the planet. Even back in the early days, the first Golden Age, there had been the slums where the luckless resided, where people fled when they were at the end of the rope and still kept sliding down. Over the years, the millennia, when the wars had ravaged the planet, the Badlands had grown, had accepted more refugees, and today it was hard to battle the devastation and the poverty.   
The former Predacon commander stopped at a small hill and looked around. Ruins, debris, garbage... it all compiled into the despair and pain he knew so well. Razorclaw used to prowl here with the other Predacons, targeting those individuals dumb enough to confront the combiner team, and they had taken them down. It had been a sport, cruel and gruesome, but it had been their hobby. Occupational therapy when all you had back at the Decepticon base was back stabbing and double crossing. Nothing against that, but he hated to be caught in the middle when he had his own plans to follow.   
Now it was decades after that, many had died, and he had lost two of his team to the last terrible attack of the Tji on Cybertron. Headstrong and Tantrum had not survived, Rampage had disappeared and Razorclaw himself and Divebomb had joined Counterstrike. So much for the Combiner. Predaking had been destroyed and with it, a deep wound inside Razorclaw had been opened. It was healing, but the healing was slow. With the loss of two teammates, the bond between the five Predacons had been destroyed, and that had been painful. Combiners relied on synchronized bonds, of being one even when separate, and they suffered when one of them was badly injured. When someone was killed.... it took a part out of the whole.   
Razorclaw sighed. As a leader he had tried to be strong, but then Rampage had disappeared and though he knew he was still alive, it hurt even more. Now he had a new team, the Counterstrike team, and though he wasn't a leader here, he liked the work. It took his mind off the past.   
Rumbling soft, Razorclaw continued his way. He had a criminal to catch.

* * *

There was a certain beauty to the city of Strata-Mainframe. It seemed to glow in the light of the lamps and office buildings, the surface of the houses in the wealthier areas sparkling like new. Tress, bushes and grass grew here or there, forming parks or small rest areas. Fyrw'ker had to hand it to the hydroponics teams; they had done their work well. But she wasn't here to enjoy the scenery; she had a contact to meet. She had never expected to find one of them here, but now that she had, she knew he might be very helpful finding her target.   
Her contact stood at a hot dog stand, chewing at the sausage in a bun, his eyes wandering over the busy streets. Everything looked perfectly normal, just like on every day. No signs of the crimes occurring every hour, every day, every year. But she could feel it. She *knew* someone was here, someone powerful and .... murderous. Fyrw'ker watched as he took another napkin and began to walk from the hot dog stand down the street, looking like just another pedestrian. Well, he was just another pedestrian, but to her he was a bit more; he was a link to her own home and past. She followed silently, then suddenly joined him as he stopped at a traffic light. The man's dark brown eyes met hers and widened briefly. When she went walked across the street and down the others side, passing several shops. She then stepped through a door into one of the many small malls.   
Her contact followed.   
"I need information," she said as they sat down next to a water fountain at one of the many tables in this area.   
He followed her and sat down as well, swallowing heavily. "You... you are..."   
"I'm someone who needs information. Do you have it?"   
He swallowed again. "Maybe. Who or what are you looking for?"   
"The Murcia."   
He stopped, eyes widening even more. "The Murcia?" he whispered, fear in his voice.   
"You know where he is?"   
"I... I heard he was here, but... I haven't seen him."   
"Do you know where he is?" Fyrw'ker repeated her question, holding his gaze.   
He swallowed again. "There are rumors. They say he is hiding in what is called the Badlands here, an abandoned, empty stretch of land. It's not really good to go there; you wouldn't come out alive."   
She smiled coldly. "Don't worry. Where in the Badlands is he?"   
He shrugged. "I don't know...."   
Fyrw'ker looked around and her eyes came to rest on an artist, sitting on a chair in front of his canvas, painting. She could see half of the picture from here. It was a landscape, fantastic and mysterious, with a great waterfall and a flock of birds in front of a morning sky. A cloud shaped like a dragon passed the blue sky. He dipped his brush into a pot with blue paint and started to outline the lake at the bottom of the waterfall more clearly.   
"Can you show me the place?" she finally wanted to know.   
He looked truly frightened now. "Just go north. You can't miss the area. It reeks."   
Fyrw'ker nodded, knowing what he meant. "Thank you." She rose.   
His eyes followed her in a mixture of awe and fear. "I didn't know you still existed."   
She gave him a more real smile now. "We never die." Then she left.

*

He watched and smiled. Oh, another victim. How much more fun could it be?   
"My master will love this one," he whispered.

* * *

A crowd of people had gathered. Police cars were parked at the curb and a coroner's car had stopped right behind them. Right now two men working for the coroner's service wheeled a stretcher toward the waiting car, the crowd's eyes following it in fascinated horror. On the stretcher was a zipped up, black body bag. The people craned their necks to get a good look.   
"Please stay back," one of the police officers instructed and pushed some spectators back behind the line.   
Another officer walked over to the pathologist who had been called to the scene.   
"What do you think?" he asked and watched the stretcher pushed into the back of the car.   
"Looks like he bled to death. Not a pretty sight. Whoever killed him knew that it would take a while. One of the security people who found him said he was conscious and died maybe a few minutes before we arrived."   
Another car and transformed and the officer nodded at the coroner to leave. The robot now approaching was an Autobot and he knew he was part of the security forces.   
"Mirage," he greeted him.   
Mirage looked at the scene. "What happened?"   
"Someone killed an alien and the guy bled to death behind one of the shops. He was found just before he died by one of the security people. There was a woman with him as well, but the problem is that she seems to have disappeared from one second to another after the victim died."   
"Do you have a description?"   
He nodded and ran through a short list the security officer had compiled. Mirage frowned slightly, then opened a channel to call someone.   
"Secure the crime scene and forward the description to Counterstrike," he told the police officer.   
"What about the woman."   
"We'll take care of her."   
He shrugged. "By the way, you might want to know something else. Looks like the guy was sacrificed...."   
Mirage blinked. "Sacrificed?"   
The officer nodded. "Yup. But like I said, he was left alive long enough. We secured some items that I'll send over to your office."   
Mirage just nodded.   
"Okay, keep back, fellows!" the human shouted as he returned the crime scene, pushing spectators aside.   
Mirage stayed a few more minutes, looking around, then he transformed and headed back to Counterstrike HQ to report.

* * *

Spike knew he would find her here. It was the loneliest place someone could find without actually going too far from the crowdedness of West Central. He landed softly, noiselessly, and watched the motionless figure. Fyrw'ker radiated extreme danger and suppressed aggression, unreleased emotions, pent-up rage. She would have to release it soon or explode. He knew what had happened and he felt with her. The man who had been killed had tried to protect her. Security had found him bleeding to death from a crossbow bolt in the stomach, a slow and agonizing death, a planned torture. The murderer had known she would find him before he died, would have to watch him pass away in her presence. Someone had called security and the two officers on the scene of the crime had informed Cyclonus. It was all Spike had been able to do to stop the commander from sending in every single available Counterstrike officer.   
Spike had been told from one of the two officers who the dead man had been. His name had apparently been Harrin, an alien who had been on Cybertron for a while, and who had run a rather successful tailor business. No one could tell him what race Harrin was of, but he was taller than a human and he looked a bit like Fyrw'ker's kind. At least superficially. His last words had been 'Murcia' and 'Get him'.   
So who was Murcia? The guy Fyr was after? Spike would have to check it.   
Now he approached silently, almost tasting her anger and smelling her rage. And she had shifted. Spike knew about hose powers, how she could adapt her shape, though it took energy and strength to perform this outstanding miracle, but he had not expected it, actually..... Now she looked like a mixture between a large cat and something human, her clothing torn, her toes and fingers long claws, her skin covered by a dense, brown fur, her hair nothing but a mane now. Still, the features were mainly Fyrw'ker's still.   
Spike wondered why he had chosen to come. He was putting himself into a lot of danger. They weren't exactly friends....   
As she heard his approach Fyrw'ker whirled around, snarling, eyes filled with golden fire. Sharp claws gleamed in the faint star light. "Leave!"   
Spike remained where he was, noting the pain edged into her features, dried tear stains on her cheeks. She was vibrating with suppressed rage and pain. The Protogen leader knew he was risking a lot, but he also wanted to help, though his instincts told him to get away from here very fast.   
"No," he now said calmly.   
"What do you want?!"   
"Help?" Spike suggested with a faint smile.   
She snarled again, laughing harshly. "Help? With what? You don't even understand! You are not one of us! You are not one of the victims!"   
Spike was silent, letting her rage. Yes, he was not one of her kind and he wasn't a victim of the killer, one of those left behind, but he understood loss and the pain of losing.   
"You mourn."   
"Yes! I mourn! Harrin was my kind! I know his heritage, I know his background, and he gave his life for me!" Tears were in her eyes again. "He died for nothing!"   
"He died for you, your protection."   
She hissed. "NO!" The other side she harbored deep inside her emerged more viciously now and her features were definitely cat-like now, the fangs no longer an imagination. "He killed him just to hurt me!"   
"And he succeeded."   
Fire flared in her eyes and Fyrw'ker's tail snapped like a whip. "I should have been faster," she whispered. "I should have seen the danger. I should have warned him." It sounded like she was crucifying herself with the words.   
"You did all you could. You have to accept that he is dead." Spike heard the cruel words emerge his mouth, but they were the truth. He had accepted it some time ago.   
She bared her fangs. "I can't accept a senseless death! Maybe you can!"   
He winced imperceptibly. "No, I'm not immune, but isn't the pain you are feeling what the killer intended? You are after him and he is trying to get to you. He is succeeding."   
Fyr curled her hands into fists and closed her eyes, body strung taut. "He won't escape me. I will bring him to justice, wherever he is hiding, whatever he is throwing into my way!" she growled. It sounded like a prayer.   
"Let us help. Please?"   
Their eyes met and she sighed deeply. "I cannot risk you or anyone else."   
"You already risked a lot of people, Fyr, and I can watch out for myself. Harrin mentioned 'Murcia' before he died. Is he the one you are after?"   
She rumbled deep in her throat.   
"So it is. Who is he?"   
Fyr stared defiantly at him and Spike sighed. "Listen, you are only making it harder and harder. Kup is demanding you be detained under any circumstances. Death follows you and he is not taking any crap about you being a bounty hunter. You are a threat. Cyclonus is willing to listen and give you a break for one more time, so don't disgruntle him as well. Work with us, Fyr!"   
She turned away and faced the nothingness of space that was stretching to the horizon. "The Murcia is a Legend."   
"Legend?"   
"On your planet, Earth, he would be a demon, a gnome, a dragon, an ogre, a devil, a faery, a dwarf, a troll.... choose. He is a Legend."   
"You mean he is what others think is only a fairy tales?"   
She nodded slowly. "On my world we have legends as well, though telling them to you might make them sound strange – just like yours are strange to us. We have The Darkness, where all kind lives, and The Abyss, where the Legends come from. The Abyss is no real place, it's what you call fairy tale land. You tell scary stories to the children and you write books, but you do not believe they are real."   
"But they are?"   
Another nod. "Frighteningly so. The Murcia is one of those Abyss creatures, a Legend, and it is my job to hunt him down. We can never let them escape off our homeworld. They are too dangerous."   
Spike blinked, trying to comprehend this. "You are telling me a legendary figure of your people's imagination is killing people here?"   
"And on every other world as well. He likes spreading chaos. The Murcia is the chaos demon of The Abyss and serves the Lord of Chaos. And he is very much real."   
"Oh, great......"   
Fyrw'ker turned to face him again. "I cannot explain it in any terms you'd understand, Spike, but I have to apprehend him. He is flesh and blood, but he is also a Legend. He has powers, though not those told in the tales. Currently he is playing with me, with everyone, but soon he will spread chaos for real. I have to stop him before he does."   
"We have to stop him and we will." Spike smiled slightly. "Come back to West Central with me and explain it to Cyclonus. He won't be in your way as often then, though he will insist you keep in touch – for real this time."   
She smiled humorlessly. "I'll think about it."   
Spike sighed and looked heavenwards.

* * *

Fyrw'ker crouched like a predator on the chair of her hotel room, eyes staring sightlessly at the littered floor. She tried to get her raging emotions under control. Her grief for Harrin's death was great. She had known him for only a short moment, but she knew what he was. He was one of her kind, one of those who only heard of what she was in the Legends also told about The Abyss. For him, it had been like meeting such a creature out of bedtime stories, but the fear she had read in his eyes had only come from the deep surprise of facing a mythical being. Fyrw'ker sometimes hated what she evoked among the 'normal people' of her kind, but most of the time she enjoyed it. It gave those of her order a lot of power.   
And Harrin had died because he had protected her, because he had thought Murcia had been after her. Instead the chaos creature had wasted him to hurt her. Fyrw'ker screwed her eyes shut, swallowing her pain, her tears, her grief. Spike was right to some degree. She had to forget, but she couldn't. It would stay with her. It was personal. And she knew she'd take her revenge; for her own injuries, for Harrin's death, for everyone this creature had ever killed. The others were unimportant compared to the death of one of her own. There were few of her kind already and decimating them even more because of the primitive lust for killing something.   
After a while she uncurled and rose. She had a job to do and she would do it. Murcia would be apprehended and brought back to The Abyss – dead or alive.

* * *

Backdraft had not had a free moment in hours and she wished Spike were here. He had a knack for handling crowds, though the few new Protogen online barely resembled a crowd as such. Still, they needed attention, questions answered, things explained. Volta and Domino had joined her to help out, but all they could do was fire control. Disaster and his team had to work fast and because of that, a lot of new lives came online; all had to be handled somehow.   
"Next time I'll do the researching into crimes and he can handle this madhouse," she muttered.   
She went back into the room Chaos had cleared of medical stuff and which was used as a kind of day room/meeting room/conference chamber at the moment. Curious optics turned her way and Backdraft squared her shoulders.

* * *

The attack came out of the blue and though he was well-armed and had learned to use the dragon alternate mode to perfection, Spike never had a chance. He tried to snap at the tentacles and claws reaching for him, but they evaded him and the one he managed to sink his teeth into dissolved. The fight was unequal and he was losing.   
A wing was torn to shreds and he roared. The pain was excruciating, searing along every nerve of his robotic body, scorching his mind. He heard himself scream, felt the talons tearing into him again and again like they were a red hot poker, and he felt the stake that was already deeply buried in his shoulder. His legs gave way and he gasped, trying to catch a rational thought. It eluded him. The Murcia pushed the stake in a bit deeper, then watched Spike crumble to the floor. The Protogen leader lay on the ground, shivering, optics ablaze and moaning softly. He was unable to transform back into humanoid mode. Both wings were shredded, one torn off. One side of his dragon body was ripped open, fluids gathering in the ugly wounds.   
"Don't worry," the creature whispered. "I won't kill you. It's much more entertaining to hurt her through you than killing you. And my lord and master has been pleased through the last sacrifice already."   
With that the thing disappeared. Spike heard the rattle of his oxygen filters and the struggle of his fuel pump. Almost numb fingers searched for the panel on his right forearm. His focus was on this task alone; call help. He fumbled and finally managed to crack the panel open. It felt like an eternity until he had depressed the emergency call button. As he heard the soft beep, incredibly loud in the silence that was only interrupted by his harsh breathing, his consciousness started to slip.   
He didn't notice the arrival of a crash team, accompanied by security.   
He didn't feel the medics attending to him.

* * *

Cyclonus' optics glowed with suppressed anger. "This creature killed one person already and made attacks not only on its hunter but also on a member of the Alliance Council!" he said, voice strangely calm, though there was a dangerous tone to it. "It strikes it hides, it strikes again. This will stop right here and now! Every available man is to spread out and hunt this thing! I want it found!"   
Chromia and Razorclaw snapped to attention, chorusing a hasty, "Yessir!" and disappeared.   
Silhouette detached herself from the wall and stepped in front of Cyclonus, facing the irate commander. "Word has it that it disappeared into the Badlands again."   
"Word my afterburners! It's toying with us! Last time the rumor said Badlands as well and it struck in Strata! Then it entered the Westridge outskirts and nearly killed Spike!" Cyclonus slammed his fist on the desk. "I want it found and brought down!"   
"If what Fyrw'ker told us is right, it won't be that easy."   
"I don't care, Silhouette! It's a threat to this planet!"   
She nodded. "I won't disagree, but we might not be able to bring it down alone. Fyrw'ker is the one we have to consult."   
Cyclonus' heated gaze met her cool blue one. "If you want to talk to this interloper, do it, but she has caused enough trouble. If she had told the truth right from the start, nothing of this would have happened!"   
The Dinobot sighed. "I know, but from her perspective we were not to trust. She works alone."   
"I don't care if she dies alone! We have rules and they are here for a reason!" Cyclonus paced. "The creature is playing with us and it is playing with her."   
Silhouette had to agree again. After Fyrw'ker had finally told them the truth, the whole truth, it had first sounded laughable, but now it no longer was. This Murcia, a Legend as she had told them, was very well able to follow its name as a chaos demon and spread chaos everywhere. According to Fyrw'ker the Legend was powerful and able of more than what it had already shown it could do.   
"Still, we should employ her help."   
"I'm not for hire," a voice said calmly.   
Both robots turned and faced the tall and proud figure of Fyrw'ker. She was wearing a kind of battle armor, her face a determined mask.   
"I already work for someone."   
Cyclonus opened his mouth to say something, but Silhouette interrupted him right away. "You know what The Murcia did." It wasn't a question.   
"Yes. It was the last move he ever made." Grim anger spoke through her words. "I know where he is and where he is headed. Westridge is his current nest and he will move on to something bigger the moment he is tired of it."   
"Will you help?" Sil asked, again interrupting Cyclonus.   
"I will assist, but I won't do any more. This is my responsibility, my job."   
"If you had done your job before, we wouldn't be in this mess!" Cyclonus told her coldly. "Local authorities require information and you denied them; you purposefully left us in the dark and it cost one man his life and another one is currently fighting for it. You obstructed security, fleshling!"   
Fyrw'ker's features darkened. "You had the information you needed and you were the one obstructing me, metal head."   
"Kids, please!" Silhouette called. "Back to business? We can start with the personal insults and name-calling right after we cleared this mess, all right?"   
Both glared at her, but she shot them a pointed look. Fyrw'ker snorted and Cyclonus just folded his arms. Silhouette smiled.   
"Okay, now where do we start?"

* * *

Backdraft stood back in shock as she watched the medical emergency team wheel in Spike. He was barely recognizable, the dragon form a horrifically slashed and torn mass. First Aid was immediately at his side, barking orders, and Chaos went to prepare the Restoration Chamber.   
"What happened?" she breathed.   
"Spike was attacked. We think it was The Murcia," Octane told her. He had been the first to arrive and see the gruesome scene.   
"Matrix....." she whispered.   
First Aid gestured at his helpers to push the unconscious form on the stretcher into the treatment room. They had to clean up the worst before they could leave him to be restored by the chamber that had been especially created for the Protogens. The so-called ants that formed the skin needed help repairing the damage.   
"Cyclonus has called on a full force search," Octane went on. "We'll get this thing!"   
Backdraft only nodded, feeling numb.

* * *

It had taken five hours of combined searching until they had located The Murcia, and then only because it had finally surfaced – in the most destructive manner. Fyrw'ker had only nodded grimly and moved off without further comment. Cyclonus had cursed the alien silently and simply called his troops, starting to attack the enemy.   
But it had proven to be not so simply.... Their problems had only just started.   
The thing was huge! And it had grown to its current size within an hour after the first confrontation, almost right in front of their optics! Cyclonus stared, unable to do much more for almost two seconds. Then he started to bark orders, watching his team spread out to try and take down the intruder. The local law enforcement was trying its best to corner The Murcia, but they were wiped out without so much of an eye-blink. Divebomb was having quite a lot of trouble keeping his tail feathers out of danger and Razorclaw had taken quite a beating already.   
"We have to fall back!" Blitzwing called, slight panic in his voice.   
The Murcia roared and lashed out, and Blitzwing sailed though the air, crashing into a near-by building. Cyclonus targeted the gigantic creature's eye and fired non-stop. He had launched himself into the air and was weaving through the counter-attack, but still he couldn't land a valid shot, one that really hurt. And then he made a mistake. Assuming that The Murcia operated by known physical laws he had come up from above, evading the grabbing arms at the side. Suddenly the thing sprouted something looking like a tentacle and lashed out at him.   
Cyclonus was thrown back from the force of the blow and connected hard with the wall that was suddenly behind him. He heard circuits creak and felt his skin dent. He transformed and tried to get to his feet, but he was too dazed to coordinate correctly. The creature lurched forward, grabbed his left ankle, and used the hapless Decepticon to fling him into an office building. Wall and windows shattered, chairs and tables breaking under his impact, and he came up against something unyielding, which buried itself into his back. Cyclonus wheezed, head spinning, and tried to get to his feet, but he had no chance against the behemoth. His optics widened as he saw the thing pick up several sharp stakes and hurl them at him, but all he could do was curl into an as small as possible target because his servos just couldn't gather the strength to move any longer.   
There was a sharp pain in his right shoulder, followed by a blow to his lower back, then everything -- the whole building -- collapsed on him.

*

The Murcia regarded his work with a wide grin on his misshapen features, then turned away and looked around. Westridge was in chaos -- his chaos. People were running, screaming, trying to get to safety, but soon there would be no safe place here. The Murcia had declared his territory and nothing and no one would be able to stop him. The little, futile resistance the so-called security forces had offered was laughable. He had stopped two teams of them already and their leader was now buried under a pile of dust.   
Very good! So much fun! He hadn't even needed to fall back on magick yet, but he'd probably spread some of it before the day was over. And the hunter they had sent after him had yet to show her pretty face. Creatures of The Abyss knew each hunter, even those who had just recently joined, and Fyrw'ker was one that inspired a lot of respect. Trying to kill her was not easy and The Murcia had not really thought that he'd get rid of his pursuer by the means he had employed. She was quite resilient, granted, but the was still from The Darkness, which meant she was emotional. Killing her contact, one of her kind, had been equally fun and one of his better ideas yet. He chuckled.   
Moving through the almost empty streets, looking at the abandoned cars, he reveled in his feeling of power. Okay, so he would most likely have to leave here soon because of the danger he was in through the hunter, but as long as he could he would enjoy the carnage. Being out in the open gave him so much.... mostly the feeling of fear from others, their terror and his joy at their discomfort and even death.   
The Murcia tore down several trees and drew a line of ragged destruction through a small park, scattering dead plants and soil everywhere, then he turned back to the city, intent to do as much leveling as was possible before he targeted the next settlement. Something much bigger... and much more fun.

* * *

Optimus Prime listened to the report from Kup, trying to ignore the anger that was pouring out of his security chief's mouth with every word. The Murcia, the chaos demon, was laying waste to Westridge, people had died, property had been destroyed, and three teams of security and Counterstrike people were missing. Among the missing was Cyclonus. Silhouette had reported back on the movement of the demon, but nothing they had thrown at him was remotely enough to stop him.   
"Thank you, Kup," he now cut off the older Autobot.   
"And what are we going to do about this creature?" Kup demanded. "Counterstrike is apparently not able to even slow it down!"   
Prime sighed. There it was again. The hidden anger at the second-largest security troop in this part of Cybertron. Kup was security chief, but Cyclonus was the Counterstrike commander. Counterstrike was a strong and valuable institution and though it should be under Kup's command, it wasn't. Cyclonus and Sil had been leading and commanding it ever since it had been called to life, and they were running it smoothly.   
"Nothing can slow it down, Kup, be it Counterstrike or someone else."   
A soft chime announced an urgent incoming message.   
"Prime, this is Jazz! The Murcia has left Westridge... and is moving toward West Central! We can't stop it!"   
Optimus' optics flashed. "Kup, red alert. All to battle stations. Lock down the core facility and evacuate the habitats. Get in contact with Ultra Magnus in Below and tell him to go to code red one as well. Jazz, track The Murcia, but don't pull any stunts."   
Both Autobots nodded and Jazz cut the connection. While Kup remained in Prime's office, Optimus called someone else.   
"Midnight? I need your back-up," the Autobot leader started the moment he had the Sentinel on the com. "We have a situation here..."

* * *

Fyrw'ker regarded the destruction The Murcia had left behind and she growled softly to herself. She was in full battle armor and was itching to confront the creature. He was moving away from her, but she'd catch up with him soon and then she'd take revenge for every single life he had taken, and twice for Harrin. And even Spike. Fyrw'ker felt her blood boil. The nerve of this creature! Not only had he attacked her and her contacts, now he had nearly killed Spike and was showing itself openly by destroying a Cybertronian town.   
"Enough!" she hissed.   
Something thundered overheard and she saw several jet fighters. Her keen eyes recognized the markings on some. Sentinels. They were an actual opponent for The Murcia, but it would need her to finally banish him back to where he belonged. The Abyss. Fyrw'ker straightened and turned to follow her opponent and target. There was no missing the path The Murcia had taken.

* * *

Midnight flew over his target once, assessing the situation. The Murcia was about twice the size of a normal Cybertronian and about twice the weight. It seemed organic, though he couldn't be sure. It flowed between several forms, each more disgusting than the next. There were tentacles and claws and sharp teeth, and it moved with a speed belying its mass.   
"Fan out!" he told the team of Sentinels and Seekers behind him. "Force the target away from West Central!"   
Wild Card and Tornado broke away to the left, F/X and Dagger to the right. Midnight was shadowed by Twister and they fired a first volley at their opponent. The Murcia seemed rather unimpressed by it and rumbled dangerously. Beady, orange eyes looked at the jets and suddenly a tentacle whipped up, growing with amazing speed out of its back and lashing out at the Sentinels. Midnight dropped immediately, Twister just a tad slower -- and this small miscalculation because he was not Interfaced was his disadvantage. The tentacle slashed at him and he gave a cry of surprise as he careened to the ground.   
"Hot damn!" F/X exclaimed.   
Midnight could only agree. He watched Twister regain his balance and power up, rejoining him.   
"Keep out of reach, maximum weapons range!" the Sentinel leader ordered.   
The resumed their attack, the Interfaced Sentinels and Seeker at an advantage compared to the non-Interfaced one, but Twister was fast nevertheless, and a lot more enduring than a Cybertronian. The Murcia stopped his advance as the strain to keep his at bay was too much. It stayed where it was, fighting back, and the jets whizzed around it like flies. Still, there was no advantage to be gained. The Murcia was strong -- maybe too strong.

* * *

Fyrw'ker watched The Murcia from a high point she had chosen. He hadn't changed much. Like all of her kind, Fyrw'ker knew each Abyss creature and The Murcia wasn't really one of the more powerful ones. The chaos demon thrived on havoc and destruction, but it fell quickly under a hunter attack. She went through her weapons and checked her armor once more, then loaded her weapon. It looked like an ancient crossbow with some modern modifications, but it was much more. Kneeling down she took aim, curling her finger around the trigger, then fired.   
The small, sturdy bolt flew straight at the massive thing, burying itself right on target between two scales on his back. The Murcia screamed in pain, whirling around to protect his injured side, immediately looking for his attacker. Fyrw'ker wasted no time. She had only one more chance and she used it. The second bolt hit him and the creature wailed loudly, stumbling back. One of the Sentinels, the pitch-black one, came her way, and Fyrw'ker scowled in disapproval. She didn't need this right now. She threw the crossbow aside, knowing it was useless now, and took another weapon. It was a bola, another long-range weapon, and it was armed with something similar to the bolt. Her intent was to weaken the chaos demon, then send him back to The Abyss when he had no counter-attacks to stop her.   
"What are you doing?"   
The didn't spare a glance, simply threw the bola. It whirred toward The Murcia, wrapped around one wrist and evoked another scream. The creature lurched toward her, but when a second bola tightened around another wrist, he stopped, crying out again.   
"I'm sending this thing back," Fyrw'ker now answered without looking at the black Sentinel.   
The tentacles had shrunk back and The Murcia was growing more solid, no longer shifting forms. He gnawed at the bonds at each wrist, but was unable to loosen them.   
"Release me!" he demanded. "Release me and I might spare your worthless life, hunter!"   
Fyrw'ker was not impressed. "If you want to help, keep him a bit busy. I'm not yet done."   
The robot stared at her. "What the hell are you doing?!"   
She finally looked up, meeting a crystal clear, emerald colored visor set inside a dark face. "To stop The Murcia you have to weaken it by means only known to my kind. I will send him back now that he has revealed himself, but as long as he is this strong, he would be able to fight my every move."   
Fyrw'ker went through her arsenal of weapons, got out another bola and threw it. This time The Murcia ducked and it sailed past. She cursed softly, never leaving her eyes of the large creature which by now had stopped shifting form completely.   
"So we keep him busy and you do whatever it is you are doing, right?" the Sentinel asked, sounding not very much amused by it.   
"Exactly." Fyrw'ker grabbed her things and started to change positions.   
The Murcia watched her, growling a challenge, then lumbered after her, hindered by the small and rather non-dangerous looking bonds and the two bolts in his back.   


Midnight watched the alien woman go, then contacted his team. Tornado sounded just as amused as he had been -- not at all, that was. Still, if it helped to send this thing to wherever it had come from, all the better. Midnight transformed and joined in the fight. Suddenly The Murcia stopped once more, eyed Fyrw'ker one more time, and began to retrace his steps toward West Central.   
"What the....."   
Wild Card and Twister shot forward, pelting it with laser shots, but none penetrated the thick hide. The Murcia grunted in annoyance, swatting at them but missing, then suddenly grabbed some debris and flung it at the outmost buildings of West Central. The shields were active and the debris bounced harmlessly off them. The Murcia howled -- and did something unexpected. He plunged his claws through the surface of the street, pulled and opened a large hole. His body shrunk and he dove into the hole.   
"Ah, damn!" Wild Card cursed and landed beside his friend. "Should we go after him?"   
Midnight smiled wryly, nodding at the figure that suddenly darted out of the shadow of a building. Fyrw'ker never hesitated. She jumped after The Murcia.   
"She and West Central's security have to take over now. We are out of the game."   
There was a beep and he opened the com line. "This is Silhouette. Mid, in case you got a hand or two free, we need some help freeing some of the security and Counterstrike officers. And we need a medical team." She sounded calm and controlled, but her voice was serious.   
"We are on our way." Midnight contacted Spellbinder, their only available field medic, then nodded at Wild Card. "Let's go."   
"I hate leaving them behind," Wild Card muttered.   
"So do I, but unless they drop the shields -- which they won't do -- we can't help. We are flyers, not tunnel rats."   
Wild Card laughed slightly. "It's never too late to learn something new."

* * *

Cyclonus was in no shape to do much, but he forced himself to straighten, suppressing a groan of pain as servos protested. Silhouette was at his side, casting worried looks at her commander, but she gratefully refrained from commenting. He surveyed the damage The Murcia had done and it looked bad, even at this first, rather superficial look.   
"How bad?" he asked, noting with a bit of pride that his voice was not cracking.   
"We have over sixty dead humans and aliens, about 40 % of Westridge is either totaled or nearly totaled, and two of the Counterstrike team are in no shape to continue." Her blue optics fixed on him. "Including you."   
Cyclonus shot her an angry look. "I'm not out of commission!"   
"You will be the moment you take your first step, because you will keel over and fall flat on your face -- Sir!" she snapped.   
He threw her a challenging look, which she met unflinchingly. Cyclonus heard the sound of jet engines and discovered three Sentinel and one Seeker arrive. One of them was Midnight.   
"I called them for help. The crash teams will be here as soon as they can, but we have to help the buried and injured," Silhouette stated neutrally.   
"I'm perfectly fine!" Cyclonus growled and forced himself to walk over to the edge of the building they had found him under. It was nothing but a pile of rubble. The Constructicons had arrived as well and were trying to organize a demolition and search party.   
Every step made metal grate upon metal and Cyclonus had to force himself to clamp down on a scream of pain. His shoulder featured a deep hole, his abdominal area was crusted with liquids and torn, and his fuel pump was laboring hard to keep his systems supplied. Silhouette appeared at his side, silent, not commenting, but he knew she didn't approve. Part of his mind didn't approve either, but then there was his pride and his rather wounded ego. Counterstrike had tried to keep The Murcia from breaking through, but they had failed. He had failed. He should have seen the danger from the moment Fyrw'ker had appeared and told them this leaky story about a bounty hunt. He should have detained her; or he should have trailed her better. He had failed and in the end he had been defeated by the alien life form now on the rampage.   
Silhouette grabbed his arm as he stumbled and he glared at her, but the glare subsided as a wave of pain hit. He felt circuits scream in alarm and then shut down.   
"Sit," she told him.   
Cyclonus followed the order without thinking much. Primus, it hurt!   
"You are going to med bay, Cyclonus," his second-in-command told him firmly. "I'll have Hook have a look at you. Don't look at me like this!"   
He sighed.   
"I know how you feel," she continued softly, the words for his audios only. "I feel the same, but it happened and we have to live with it. I don't think we were any match for this thing anyway. The others have to deal with it now."   
"They wouldn't have if I had done my job!" he hissed.   
"No. This Murcia is nothing we can go up against. It's incredibly adaptable and strong. Our chance would have been a cooperation with Fyrw'ker, but she declined."   
"And I was too stubborn," Cyclonus growled.   
Silhouette smiled and he hated her for it. "Make a note," she joked. "Mighty Cyclonus confesses to a fault."   
"Shut up, Autobot!"   
Her smile grew wider. "Yes, sir!"   
Hook ran over and Silhouette stood back, watching as the Constructicon took care of the Counterstrike commander. She turned and looked at the devastation behind her. Rescue operations were on the way, but too many had died already and she was afraid how many more they would find under the debris.

* * *

The first Protogen went online. Disaster hovered near them like a mother hen and Backdraft watched the procedure with watchful optics. Part of her was occupied with worrying about Spike, but he was on his way to a complete healing and the recreation Tank was doing its work. The Murcia had slashed him up pretty badly, but he wouldn't die. It was a relief. Backdraft caught herself and swallowed a bunch of feelings not appropriate right now. She was here in her function as second-in-command and she had several new lives to greet.   
The first pair of optics lit up and she recognized the confusion of a newly-born. Medical personnel swarmed around the Protogen.   
"What... happened? Where am I?" he asked.   
Backdraft stepped forward. "It's okay. You are in med bay of West Central, Cybertron. My name is Backdraft. Who are you?"   
"Jinx," he replied, eyeing her curiously, then looked around the medical ward. "Wow."   
"Just sit back and let the others look you over," Backdraft advised. "I'll get back to you when the others are online as well. Relax, Jinx."   
Jinx nodded slowly, still awed. Backdraft continued her way through the rows of awakening Protogens, greeting them, telling them to relax and wait until Disaster gave them all a green light. There were nearly twenty all in all and they were just some kind of first batch. The Containment Unit was stabilizing, now that several cores had been removed, but it was far from secure.   
"What are we going to do with all of them?" someone asked.   
She turned and discovered Volta. "I think Optimus already has some plans."   
"Hm, good, because I guess it's getting pretty crowded now."   
Backdraft smiled. "That's an understatement if we can't get the CU to stabilize soon."   
Both Protogen watched, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

* * *

The alarms in West Central went off, alerting the Cybertronians on duty to an intruder that had just breached the outer walls of the command structure.   
"Report!" Kup demanded.   
"We have a severe security breach in the sub-levels. Something or someone is trying to get in...."   
Almost simultaneously a message came in. The Murcia had started to dig into West Central.   
"Scramble all units!" Kup ordered, optics fixed on the scanner screen. "Stop that thing!"

* * *

"Brute force?" The Murcia taunted.   
Fyrw'ker smiled coldly. "Worked so far."   
He laughed. "Then let me show you something else." He spread out his arms. "Chaos, I serve you, Chaos, I call you, Chaos, spread and feast upon the unwary!"   
Something rushed toward her and Fyrw'ker threw up her hands, whispering some guttural words, making little gestures with her hands. The blast glanced off a shield.   
"Did you train secretly?" the chaos demon asked.   
She shot him a cold look, accessing her own power and talent. "By Order I command you, by Order I bind you, by Order I send you back!"   
He laughed again. "You think such a puny spell can stop me, hunter?"   
He launched another attack and Fyrw'ker jumped out of the way. She rolled around and brought up her weapon, firing. One bolt was deflected, the other got through. The Murcia growled angrily. His eyes narrowed, then he suddenly charged, magically empowered talons slashing at her. She moved fluidly out of his way, but the energy sparking off his fingers triggered all alarm bells in her head. The confining tunnels limited her maneuverability and if she didn't get the upper hand soon, he might escape again.   
Fyrw'ker growled softly and struck back with physical and magical force. "I will send you back, Murcia!" she promised.   
The next minutes were filled with magic crackling back and forth, physical weapons flinging toward The Murcia and Fyrw'ker evading his slashes and spells. She managed to get some bonds on him again, but she was weakening. The Murcia was fast, but he wasn't fast enough to evade the sharp claws of a bounty hunter. The bonds hindered him and he felt her slash into his hide. Suddenly Fyrw'ker howled in pain. The Murcia laughed gleefully. She fell back, panting, holding her hand, the skin blistered and seeping blood, face drawn in pain.   
"You are not my first, female," the Abyss creature whispered. "I know what to expect from you and I come prepared. And you won't be my last. I missed you once, but this time I will finish the job! No more games, hunter!"   
Fyrw'ker smiled darkly. "Is that a challenge?"   
The Murcia laughed. "It is a promise of your slow and agonizing death, Fyrw'ker. No one will get me back – ever!"   
"Then let me convince you of the opposite, creature!" she snarled.   
He laughed again, sizing her. Fyrw'ker was small than him in her current size and she had no choice but to fight with her natural abilities instead of relying on her weapons, which were no use at this close proximity.   
"Chaos may feed on your soul forever!" The Murcia roared.   
The world turned into screams and roars, shrieks and the sound of flesh being torn apart.   


Kup, Jazz, Optimus Prime and several security officers had stormed the lower level and all stopped almost dead in their tracks when they discovered the scene before them. Prime finally managed to get his legs moving and walked forward, trying to ignore the blood. The Murcia lay on the ground, still alive, wrists encircled in strange bonds, his body painted with green blood, decorated by slash mark, stab wounds and more. Strangely enough, some of them looked almost healed again.   
"Fyrw'ker?" he asked into the almost dead silence, his own voice nothing but a hollow echo.   


Fyrw'ker rose shakily, her hair matted with blood, her skin scratched, bitten and cut, covered in blood as well; her own and that of The Murcia. It was dripping from her fingers, running down her hair, staining her. She was trembling, feeling her own injuries throb with bright pain, felt blood pump out of the deeper wounds, but she willed herself to turn and walk away.   
It was over. She had one.   
A smile crossed her lips.   
Never tackle with a hunter unless you are positive that you can win. Very positive....

* * *

Fyrw'ker had dragged her prisoner aboard her small but fast ship, and had locked him up. The chaos demon was bound and in no shape to do much more than lie and suffer. She would him get to her homeworld and send him into The Abyss once more. Given his current state, The Murcia would take decades if not centuries to be of any danger again. He might heal quickly, but getting out of The Abyss was no small feat.   
Someone approached and she discovered Spike. He looked healed and whole again. "Fyrw'ker," he greeted her with a nod.   
She closed a panel on the outside port of the ship. "I won't be back for a while," she told him, smiling humorlessly.   
"You are still welcome here," Spike answered, smiling faintly as well. "We don't banish visitors, even those hunting Legends and keeping us in the dark for almost too long."   
She chuckled slightly. "I guess we should wait a few decades until I set foot here again," she finally said.   
"Might be a good idea. Take care. It was nice meeting you again."   
Fyrw'ker nodded and entered her ship. Half an hour later she was in space and approaching the first warp gate.   
Spike watched the ship until it was a tiny spec among many stars. Finally he turned and walked slowly along the road outside West Central. A lot was on his mind, most of it no longer concerning Fyrw'ker. She was off Cybertron and no longer a worry he had to take care of. Now he had to deal with several dozen new Protogen forms who had been born. Backdraft had been managing great so far, but this was no longer just a small team. This was a new faction growing fast because they had been forced to. Spike, suddenly leader of a small faction all alone. Oh, goody. He hoped he could give this burden to someone else when the Axis II was ready. He was an explorer and a commander, not a leader of so many. He had to wait and see.   



End file.
